A Way Through
by dancing-satyr
Summary: Downton hosts a séance and skeptical Thomas Barrow gets far more than he bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

"What did Lady Rose bring a medium here for?" asked Daisy with a scowl.

"To commune with Downton's dearly departed, I imagine," said Thomas wryly, not bothering to look up from his cards. Jimmy snorted and cigarette smoke puffed from his nostrils. "There's nothing to it, anyways. Just a bit of theatre."

"Do you not believe in the spirit world, Mr. Barrow?" asked Anna, taking a pause in her stitching.

"As a matter of fact, I don't. I think those so-called mediums are nothing but charlatans. It's cruel, what they do."

"I didn't think you had any misgivings where cruelty was concerned, Mr. Barrow," said Bates levelly. "And why should it be cruel to give hope and comfort to those in mourning?"

"I may be unkind, Mr. Bates, but I'm not so cruel as that. And I fail to find any sort of hope or comfort in being lied to." Thomas held eye contact until Bates decided that carrying on with their argument wasn't worth his time. He turned to start gathering his things.

"I think Anna and I are ready to go home," said Bates. The others murmured their 'good nights' as the Bates couple walked from the hall. Mrs. Hughes was the next to stand.

"I think I'd better retire for the evening as well. Mr. Barrow, James," Mrs. Hughes addressed the pair of them, "you may want to wake Mr. Molesley sooner rather than later. Remember that the three of you will be expected upstairs at half past eleven."

Mr. Molesley was indeed snoring lightly in a chair at the far end of the room. It came as no surprise to Thomas when Mr. Carson volunteered his under-butler and two footmen for the night's activities and took himself off to bed at a reasonable hour.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," said Thomas and Jimmy in unison. Once she had left, Jimmy grumbled, "I'd rather be in me own bed in an hour. What do they want with us at their little midnight party anyway? Do they expect us to offer the ghosts canapés?"

"I don't think a seance quite works that way, Jimmy," said Thomas with a fond smile. He tried to ignore the way Jimmy's hair shone gold in the soft light of the hall. The sight of it made his throat constrict. "We'll probably just stand about while the upstairs folk sit at a table holding hands in the dark."

"That sounds incredibly dull," said Jimmy. Disappointment was evident in his features as he deftly reshuffled the cards.

"To be fair, there's bound to be some tricks thrown in to impress everyone. Shaking table, flying objects and such. I'm sure they're setting up an elaborate show as we speak," said Thomas, examining the unpromising hand Jimmy had dealt him.

"In that case, it shouldn't be too much of a bore then, eh?" said Jimmy. Thomas grunted noncommittally and took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke burn in his lungs.

As the hall gradually thinned out, Thomas's longing for a solid night of sleep intensified. Unsettling dreams about the war had started up again several weeks ago, leaving him tired and out of sorts. Ever since Thomas had made it out of the trenches he'd been prone to sporadic nightmares, but lately he had been experiencing an inexplicable onslaught of them. He usually woke in a sweaty panic, unable to remember much more than a rotten severed limb in the mud or the cacophony of shells. Thomas hardly needed the presence of a medium to bring him closer to the dead.

Jimmy put his cards away as Thomas checked his watch. "I suppose it's time for us to head up. Go give old Molesley a good shake, would you?"

{*\\*/*\\*/*}

The seance was to be held in the library. When Thomas entered, followed by Jimmy and a still drowsy Molesley, a round table was already arranged in the center of the room. It was draped in a black cloth set with the obligatory crystal ball and no less than a dozen stuttering candles. Curiously, the table also held a plate of bread along with a stack of blank paper and a pen.

A slight white-haired woman, whom Thomas assumed must be the medium, twirled airily around the room waving incense and chanting unintelligibly. Tearing his eyes away from the medium's antics, he nearly jumped out of his skin once he noticed the two young women seated on a sofa by the fireplace. They were identical twins, exhibiting matching blonde bobs, black lace dresses, and blank expressions. They stared over at Thomas, Jimmy, and Molesley unblinkingly.

"Crikey. They're overdoing it a bit, don't you think?" muttered Jimmy. Thomas had to agree that the scene before them was indeed more than a little cliche.

"Let's just get this over with," said Thomas, rolling his eyes at the twins.

He took his post by the door and soon heard voices coming down the hallway.

"…highly recommended. Francine was simply amazed by this woman's abilities. The earth was practically shaking under their feet, she said," Thomas heard Lady Rose proclaim.

Lady Mary sounded much less enthusiastic. "Well, I don't know about that. I don't believe in it myself, but I'm sure it's worth it to see the look on Papa's face when she starts on her incantations."

Although she seemed indifferent on the surface, Thomas couldn't help but wonder if Lady Mary might be feeling a little wary of the night's proceedings. After all, the medium was bound to concoct some sort of message given by Matthew from 'the beyond.' In Thomas's opinion, the family were rather too indulgent of Rose's various flights of fancy.

Rose and Mary were soon followed by Edith, Branson, and Lord and Lady Grantham. Thomas and Jimmy exchanged covert looks of surprise when the Dowager arrived with Mrs. Crawley a moment later. Regardless of whether or not the medium failed to deliver, Thomas suspected the Dowager already had a few impertinent remarks up her sleeve.

The medium glided over to the group, gesticulating theatrically. Thomas was worried she would send beads flying everywhere if she wasn't careful. "Welcome everyone! Please, please, gather round!"

The family drifted over to the table, awkwardly hovering behind their chairs as though unsure of whether or not they were meant to sit in them.

"Ah, but we need more seats! Flora, Holly, kindly fetch three more, please!" said the medium to the twins.

"Pardon me, but I don't notice anyone without a chair," said Lord Grantham with an air of authority that somehow fell flat in the current peculiar atmosphere.

If the medium found his tone patronizing, she didn't let on. "For these three young men, of course," she said, waving her hands towards Thomas, Jimmy, and Molesley. At this news, Thomas succeeded in keeping his face impassive while scrambling desperately for a reason to excuse himself immediately. He looked over at the other two; Molesley seemed to share Thomas's trepidation while Jimmy was obviously delighted by the invitation.

"What?" said Lord Grantham sharply. "But, surely…"

"Nonsense, nonsense," said the medium in a sing-songy voice. "We mustn't leave anyone out of the circle if we want to break through to the 'other side.' The more the merrier, I say!"

As the twins ushered them towards the group, Thomas mused that the medium probably did not want bystanders in the room with vantage points from which to better witness her fraud. There was a loud scraping and groaning of chairs as they all sat down. Across the table, Thomas saw that Rose was radiating feverish excitement.

"There is a great deal of energy in this house. I believe I will have little trouble in contacting the spirits who reside here," announced the medium, as though she were about to bestow upon them the greatest of treats. Thomas was in no doubt that she had done her homework on the family.

"I ask all of you to keep an open mind and try not to be alarmed if a spirit makes contact. During this ceremony, it is most likely that you will bear witness to spirits temporarily inhabiting my body. I will convey their messages through both speech and automatic writing. In the past, there have also been instances of tremors, floating objects, phantom noises, and other such instances of paranormal phenomena. Although these happenings may frighten you, it is imperative that you do not break the circle until it is finished. If someone were to break the circle at the wrong moment, it could put us all in peril."

Before this melodramatic introductory speech, most of the faces around the table had merely looked politely interested. Thomas now recognized traces of real fear beginning to creep through the participants. He was almost disappointed that they had been so easily taken in.

"May I answer any questions before we begin?" She might have been a schoolteacher about to commence with a lesson in arithmetic.

"Yes, I wonder if you could tell us why there is a bowl of stale bread on the table?" asked the Dowager.

"During a seance, it is customary to have an offering of food with which to entice the spirits."

"Had we known that the spirits needed to be lured out with refreshments we could have asked Mrs. Patmore to prepare something that would actually entice."

Thomas nearly choked on his own saliva but the medium appeared unfazed. She was probably accustomed to the odd cheeky remark in her line of work.

"If there are no more questions at this time, I would like you to join hands and form a circle," said the medium.

Thomas finally noticed with great dismay that he had been seated in between Jimmy and Lord Grantham. He was well aware of the many uncharitable things he had done in his life, but he was sure he had done nothing so horrible as to warrant forced hand-holding with his palpably uncomfortable employer and the heterosexual object of his unrequited love. He was grateful at least for the fact that Mr. Carson was not present to see his awkward predicament. His face reddened further at the thought.

As the medium began chanting, Thomas felt Jimmy give his left hand a small squeeze. Thomas chanced a glance over at him and received a wink from Jimmy for his efforts. He knew it was meant as only a friendly gesture on Jimmy's part, but it nevertheless made Thomas's blood simmer. There was something that felt entirely illicit and thrilling about holding Jimmy's hand out in the open, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the heady aroma of incense. Though the sight of his own scarred hand still repulsed Thomas, he was seized by a sudden desire to rip off his glove and press the mangled flesh of his palm into the pure unmarred skin of Jimmy's. Jimmy's touch could fix him, make him whole again, he thought wildly.

He was so caught up in the simple euphoria of holding Jimmy's hand that he only dimly registered what was happening around them. A vase levitated off the mantle and the crystal ball began flashing with light. The faces around the table vacillated between horror and glee at the display; the medium seemed to thrive on these anticipated reactions as she called out to the ghosts trying to make their presences known.

Thomas suddenly became aware that he no longer felt overheated, but was growing rapidly colder as though his blood was freezing in his veins. An uncontrollable shivering began to work its way outward from his chest. He looked around, but it seemed no one shared this particular physical response. In fact, their faces had all gone quite hazy. The only thing that appeared physically tangible to Thomas was the fog rolling in from the corners of the room, enveloping them all. He was numb save for the feeling of Jimmy's hand clasped tight in his own…


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas opened his eyes, vaguely wondering when he had even closed them. When all that greeted him was a vision of murky grey, he felt a sharp pang of dread that he had somehow been blinded like poor Edward Courtenay. How far away and long ago that seemed.

Before that line of thought could take itself any further, however, the fog slowly withdrew itself until Thomas discerned that he was standing in the middle of a wood. It reminded him of the walks he took around the Abbey, perhaps on a cold November evening when the last of the leaves had fallen and fingers of mist caressed the bare trees. If only he could remember how he came to be in such a place.

As though his previous thoughts had summoned the man, a figure materialized from out of the fog. He walked slowly and purposefully through the trees until he came to stand before Thomas. He was still clothed in his military uniform, the way he was always dressed when Thomas held him in his mind's eye. "Lieutenant Courtenay? Edward, how…"

Thomas could barely speak, hardly breathe. Awestruck, he reached out to place a hand gently on the side of Edward's face. The skin there felt so warm and real against his palm. Edward's grin widened and Thomas used his thumb to trace the smile lines that formed around his mouth.

"You have very lovely eyes," said Thomas in wonderment, feeling his own tearing up. Indeed, the Lieutenant was no longer blind. His eyes were clear and shone luminously even in the dimness of the forest; the scarring around them had vanished.

"And you have a very handsome face, my dear friend. How glad I am to finally see it," said Edward, raising his own hand to Thomas's cheek. The Edward in front of Thomas was lighthearted, strong, and confident; he was much changed from the beaten and broken man whose memory Thomas still wept over at night, heartbroken and cold in his solitary bed.

"It seems you haven't long here," said Edward, searching Thomas's face with a curious expression. "But not to worry, it will all be arranged. Where would you like to meet everyone? I can take you most anywhere."

"I'm not sure," said Thomas. He still didn't understand where he was or why, but Edward seemed to know and Thomas trusted him implicitly. "I'd prefer someplace warm, but I'll let you decide what's best."

Edward took Thomas by the hand and led him to a narrow path that wove itself crookedly between the trees. As they followed it, Thomas felt a sudden sense of unreality pull at him, like someone was attempting to wrench him from a deep sleep. The feeling stopped as quickly as it had started, but it left him dizzy.

"Are you quite alright?" asked Edward. His concerned hand squeezed Thomas's shoulder.

"I had a bit of a turn but I think I'm fine now," said Thomas. He drew in a deep breath and the ground was once again solid beneath him.

"It's the others beyond you. They must have tried to bring you back to them," said Edward. "Of course you may choose to leave at any time, but I believe it would be a wasted journey to turn around now. You'll come to no harm, I promise."

"I'm not ready to leave you," said Thomas. He thought that he could walk that path through the wood forever if it meant that he could stay by Edward's side.

But the path did not, in fact, go on forever. As they turned a sharp corner, the trail ended abruptly in front of an immense white neoclassical building. It was at once monstrous and divine, a freakish remnant of civilization in a wild country. There were no other such structures nearby that Thomas could see; the wood had grown around it, neither rejecting the aberration nor embracing it. It was an intensely lonely sight to behold.

Thomas was thankful that Edward continued to keep hold of his hand as they climbed the stairs and passed between the columns. When they reached the archaic wooden double doors, Edward raised his hand to the knocker; the three resounding thuds hung suspended in the gauzy mist.

The doors swung open to let them enter. As they passed over the threshold, Thomas was bowled over by the scene before him. The interior was fashioned in the same style as the outside of the building, with great fluted columns and high painted ceilings, but it was not dark and deserted as he had anticipated. They had come into an extravagant dance hall of sorts, complete with glittering chandeliers, red velvet drapes, and dozens of round tables arranged along the periphery of a dance floor. A lively big band had just begun to play a fast new tune for the revelers who were whirring about in the center of the hall. Thomas had certainly not expected such an onslaught of vibrant color and noise.

"Ah! There they are, already waiting," Edward informed Thomas. He was pointing to a group of people gathered at a table in the far corner next to the stage, chatting and sipping cocktails. A few of them looked at the pair and waved in recognition, but Thomas couldn't make out their faces from so far away.

"Shall we make our way over?" asked Edward. Thomas, flummoxed, merely nodded.

As they neared the table, Thomas realized that while he did not know a number of the people at it, there were several faces that were all too familiar.

"Oh, Thomas, my dear! How perfectly marvelous it is to see you. I do so hope you're well," said Lady Sybil. She embraced him with a loving warmth then pulled back to smile up at him. Thomas thought that he had never seen her more radiant than she looked at that moment.

"I'm very well, my lady. It's wonderful to see you, too," said Thomas, the tears that had formed upon greeting Edward earlier finally spilling over.

"We'll have none of that, not at such a jolly party," said Sybil kindly, wiping at his face with a handkerchief. "And please call me Sybil. There's no need to be so formal, not here."

"Sybil it is, then," said Thomas, doing his best to match her beaming grin.

Behind Sybil, Thomas noticed a black baby buggy. What an extraordinary thing to be found in a dance hall. Sybil followed his line of vision; she went over to it and lifted out a small bundle that she cradled against her chest.

"This is my baby brother. You never had the chance to meet him," she said, gazing down at the sleeping baby. "I'm caring for him until Mama comes. Matthew helps, of course."

At that, Matthew sidled over to them and carefully took the Crawley baby from Sybil. "We certainly dote on the little chap. We give him all the love that we can't give to our own children." Thomas perceived a great amount of affection in Matthew's eyes as he looked at the child in his arms, but also a tremendous sorrow.

"We miss them terribly, but George and Sybbie are being raised in a loving family, and we must be grateful for that," said Matthew, pale eyes finally making contact with Thomas's.

"I do hope Edith will find a way to bring our Marigold home someday," said one of the men at the table. Thomas recognized him as Michael Gregson.

"Listen to us moping about," said Matthew, giving Thomas a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Thomas is only here for a short time so we had best make the most of it. Come, sit with us."

Thomas let himself be pushed into a chair by Matthew and Sibyl. The band began to play a softer number, as though conscious that an important conversation was about to take place nearby. Taking in the faces around the table, Thomas realized that they were all smiling at him, happy to be in his company. It was, perhaps, the most bizarre thing he had experienced since arriving in the strange wood. He cleared his throat and fussed with his glove.

As he looked more closely at the smiling faces, Thomas was able to pick out familiar features in them: a woman with Molesley's chin and mouth; a man with Jimmy's bright eyes and a woman with his golden hair; Thomas even recognized the former Earl from his oil portrait in the Abbey.

"My dear Thomas," began Sibyl as she set herself down to Thomas's right. "We understand," she gestured to the rest of the group, "that you might be able to bring messages from us back to our families. Perhaps if we all wrote letters, you would be so kind as to deliver them for us?" Everyone around the table nodded eagerly, all eyes expectantly on Thomas.

"I don't know if I can promise that without a doubt, but I will certainly do my best," said Thomas.

Sybil beamed at him, briefly clasping her hand over his in gratitude. She then leaned forward to grab a pen and some stationary from the center of the table. Thomas could have sworn those items had not been there a moment ago. He watched as she began to compose a letter in her neat loopy cursive. When she finished, she passed the pen to Matthew. The impromptu ritual of letter writing carried on that way for some time as the pen passed from person to person until it had traveled all the way around the table.

While his companions wrote, Thomas was content to sit in silence with Edward and Sybil on either side of him. Even though they did not speak in those moments, it was enough for Thomas to simply feel the warmth and friendship that passed wordlessly between the three of them. How he missed that brief time of camaraderie they'd shared in the war; it had been one of the very few times in his life when he felt he had truly belonged.

Once the pen finally reached Edward, he took it and set it back down. Puzzled, Thomas asked, "Isn't there anyone you want to write to?"

"No. I'm here to be with you."

After Thomas had tucked the stack of letters into his breast pocket, Edward stood and reached out to take his hand.

"Would you dance with me, Thomas? Before you take your leave of us?"

Thomas nervously glanced around the table but no one paid them the slightest attention.

"It will be quite alright, I promise. No one here will mind."

Thomas let Edward lead him out onto the center of the floor. The dancing couples who had been there moments before had mysteriously disappeared and the band began to play a new song. It was a languid melody, blue and tender. Emotions Thomas rarely allowed himself to indulge in coursed through him as Edward wound an arm around his waist. How could he part with this beautiful man again?

As though he had read his thoughts, Edward whispered against Thomas's ear, "You can't stay here, Thomas."

"Why not? There's nothing back there for me. I have nothing."

"That isn't true. There's still so much for you to live for."

"You didn't think you had anything to live for."

"You're a fighter," said Edward, stroking his thumb across Thomas's scarred hand. "Is there nothing that you want in your life? Nothing that you're still willing to fight for?"

"I just want someone to love me." As Thomas spoke this simple truth it opened up some hidden floodgates inside him. He clung to Edward and let out a wretched sob.

There, in that strange hall in the embrace of a dead man, Thomas finally said the things he thought he would never say aloud. "I used to dream about meeting another man like me, someone real I could share my life with. A man I loved and who loved me back. But now that I've grown older, deep down, I've begun to realize that I'll never have that. I'll never have a true partner to confide in. I'll never be able to touch another man, to be intimate, without fearing condemnation or worse. I'm trying so hard to let go of the one thing I want most in my life and I hurt all the time."

Edward didn't say anything. For a few moments they only swayed together in silence. Then Thomas added boldly, his lips grazing the shell of Edward's ear, "I wanted so much for you to be that man. I would have spent the rest of my life making love to you if you'd have let me."

"I'm sorry that I was never able to share in that dream with you, my darling boy, truly. Perhaps in another life, but not now. Now it's time for you to go home."

The music died and the air turned cold. They were back in the woods surrounded by mist and trees.

"Know that I do love you, Thomas. I hope so very much that you find your happiness. Keep fighting for it," said Edward. His eyes were clear and soft.

"Goodbye, Edward."

Thomas was reluctant to leave, yet Edward's parting words seemed to lift some of the dead weight that had settled over his heart. He felt the warm press of Edward's lips against his before the world went black.


	3. Chapter 3

When Thomas awoke, the first thing that struck him was that he was monstrously thirsty. He blinked his eyes slowly, adjusting to the grey dawn light. Inexplicably, Jimmy was asleep in a chair at his bedside, folded over at an awkward angle so as to cradle his head in his arms on top of the mattress. He stirred as Thomas moved to sit up.

"What're you doing in here, Jimmy?" asked Thomas as he watched Jimmy straighten up and run a self conscious hand through his barely mussed hair.

"Thank goodness, you're awake. You've had everyone in a right state," said Jimmy, words slurred with grogginess.

"I don't remember going to bed last night. Was I ill or something?" Thomas registered that his muscles ached and his head felt thick. "Am I hung over?"

"Not exactly," said Jimmy, sheepishly handing him a glass of water. Thomas didn't care for the way Jimmy avoided his eye.

"Did I do something to upset you?"

"Why would you say a thing like that?"

"You're acting funny. Nervous like. You'd tell me if I'd done or said something to upset you?"

"It's nothing like that. Well, I have been upset, but that's 'cause I were worried about you. You really don't remember anything?"

"No, not really," Thomas stared down at his hands. Someone had removed his glove. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. "Only I had a funny sort of dream."

"What were it about?" Jimmy finally looked him in the eye, brow furrowed. Thomas wanted to reach out his hand to smooth away the wrinkles there.

Usually when Thomas tried to recall a dream, it withdrew from him the more he attempted to pull it into a cogent narrative. This time, however, the pieces seamlessly clicked back in to place. It was a remarkably clear picture, as though a film reel were playing in his mind. The memory of it was so lucid and raw; Thomas was unsure that he was emotionally equipped to reveal it to Jimmy in its entirety, especially the bits concerning Edward. He decided on an abridged version.

"It wasn't entirely about anything, I suppose. I was in this strange hall and everyone there was dead. Lady Sybil was there, and Mr. Matthew. I think your parents were there," said Thomas. Jimmy's expression was inscrutable. "At least I think they were your parents, 'cause you look an awful lot like them. I saw… an old friend, too. Someone I knew back during the war. It was so real for a dream, almost too real."

"That's because it wasn't a dream, Thomas," said Jimmy, unusually grave.

"What do you mean it wasn't a dream? Of course it were a dream." Even through his denial, panic clawed viciously at Thomas's insides. Jimmy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, brow still creased. He opened his mouth a few times to speak, floundering with the words he couldn't quite form.

"What do you mean it wasn't a dream, Jimmy?" Thomas repeated in clipped tones. What had he done? Was he going to be sacked? Perhaps even arrested? Surely Jimmy's countenance augured some fresh new hell for him to contend with.

Finally, Jimmy managed to speak. "Do you remember being at the seance last night? The medium asked us to join the family 'round the table?"

"Oh God, I fainted, didn't I? I remember blacking out now."

"Yeah, still not exactly what happened," said Jimmy. "Oh, bugger it all, I'm just going to come out with it. You… you went into a sort of trance."

"A trance? How do you mean?"

"Like what that medium were supposed to be doing. You know, talking to the dead people and such. Except she didn't do any of that. You did."

"You're having me on." But, even as Thomas said it, he knew Jimmy was telling the truth. He commanded himself to breathe evenly.

"It were totally unbelievable, I'd never seen anything like it," said Jimmy, awestruck. "That woman went through all her tricks just like you said she would. You know, flashing lights, floating objects, and she was yelling all sorts of rubbish. That was when you just went rigid. You had my hand in a death grip and when I looked over I could only see the whites of your eyes. Everyone were so shocked, even the medium stopped calling out and couldn't do more than stare at you. We all sort of looked around at each other lost for words. No one knew what to make of it. Then you relaxed a bit and your eyes closed and you… talked."

"I talked to Edward," said Thomas as it all finally hit him.

"Yeah. Yes, you did. Lieutenant Edward Courtney, I believe his name was," said Jimmy, regarding Thomas with some apprehension.

"He came to me from out of the trees. He was the one who took me to the others." Thomas's voice sounded flat and alien to his own ears. The whole situation was entirely surreal. What else had they heard him say?

"Are you remembering what happened then?" Jimmy asked. He seemed alarmed by Thomas's expressionless tone.

"I am, but I need you to tell me what happened on your side of it and don't leave anything out," said Thomas, looking hard at Jimmy. "Don't try to spare my feelings. I need to know everything."

"I can do that," Jimmy cleared his throat before plunging on. "So, as I said, you talked. I remember you said something about 'lovely eyes.' I think Lord Grantham were especially on edge by that point, 'cause he shook you by your shoulder, tried to get you to wake up. Lady Rose were quick to tell him to stop, though. She said it could be dangerous to wake you, which most everyone agreed with. And just so you know, no one blames you for any of it. It were pretty plain you weren't faking it."

Although the anxious knot in Thomas's stomach was still constricting painfully, he felt some small reassurance from the knowledge that no one there had thought he was trying to pull one over on them.

"Shortly after that you started talking to Lady Sibyl. Once you mentioned her, everyone went dead still. That was when it got even more strange," said Jimmy, talking animatedly with his hands. "You took the medium's pen and paper and you started writing. Couldn't tell what at first, but it looked like a letter. Then his lordship went white as a sheet. He said, 'But that's Sybil's handwriting! How in the devil is he writing in her hand?' Then you wrote letter after letter, all in different hands, and his lordship read each one out. All of us 'round the table got a letter from someone."

So Thomas had delivered the letters after all. Jimmy hesitated a moment, then reached into his breast pocket to take out a folded sheet of paper. He opened it and placed it in Thomas's hand. "It's a letter from me mum and dad. The one you wrote out last night."

"I really wrote this?" asked Thomas. He lightly traced his fingers over the tidy feminine script. If he'd had lingering doubts as to whether his meeting with Edward, Sybil, and the others had been authentic, they evaporated as he read the letter.

"Yes, I watched you," said Jimmy, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's her handwriting, Thomas. Unmistakeable. And before I go any further, I want to thank you for this. I never got to say goodbye to my parents, so this means more to me than I could ever rightly express. I'm terribly grateful, truly." Jimmy briefly squeezed Thomas's scarred hand then pulled back to hastily wipe at his eyes.

"You're very welcome, Jimmy," said Thomas. It felt like such an inadequate response, but Jimmy reassured him with a watery smile.

"But, since you told me not to leave anything out, the letters weren't the end of it. Before you passed out, you said some things. It sounded like you were having a conversation with your… friend, but we could only hear your side of it," said Jimmy, speaking directly to the bed covers. "The things you said, Thomas, they were very personal."

Thomas's stomach lurched. He had hoped that part, that dreadfully intimate confession to a dead lost love, had not physically passed his lips. Those deeply buried desires and insecurities that he could scarcely admit to himself had been laid bare for so many people to hear. No doubt everyone in the entire house had heard about it by now. His skin burned with shame. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to rage. Instead, he crumpled in on himself, unable to keep the tears from falling.

"You heard all of that?" Thomas wondered if he sounded as broken as he felt.

"Yes, we all did. I'm so sorry Thomas, I know that wasn't meant for our ears."

When Thomas imagined how the Crawleys must have reacted to his admissions, he thought he might shrivel up in abject embarrassment. How was he supposed to keep working for these people when they knew his most private thoughts and feelings? But the worst part of the ordeal, in Thomas's mind, was that Jimmy had heard him admit those things. Thomas didn't know if he could bear it.

"You must think me such a pathetic old fool."

"Of course I don't, Thomas. Don't be daft," said Jimmy with uncharacteristic vehemence. "Besides, it's not nearly as bad as you think. Most everyone already knew you were _that way_ to begin with, so you don't have to worry about getting the sack. And after you collapsed, everyone was too worried about you to even comment on it."

This information did little to ease the waves of nausea that kept washing over Thomas. "Am I expected to be back at work today?"

"No, Dr. Clarkson advised that you should take the day to rest."

"Then I think I'd like to be left alone for a while, Jimmy."

Jimmy nodded at him with a tentative smile and rose to leave. Just before he reached the door, he halted. As he spoke, he looked at the floor. "I just wanted you to know that when you said… what you said, I never thought you were a fool or pathetic. My heart was broken for you."

Jimmy was gone from the room long before Thomas could sort out his parting words.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas spent the rest of the day in bed attempting to fall back asleep with little success. He watched the bars of sunlight gradually move across his room while a torrent of despairing thoughts flooded his mind. He seriously contemplated never moving from bed again. It wasn't as though the alternative was a very attractive option, at any rate.

His mortification had hardly abated since Jimmy had filled him in on his unconscious episode. Thomas had spent his life building up a cool and callous facade, behind which he concealed a man more vulnerable and affection-starved than he cared to acknowledge. Then, in the course of a night, he'd unwittingly taken a sledgehammer to that wall, leaving his true impotency and pain exposed to those he'd kept it from at all costs. No matter what Jimmy had said about everyone being too alarmed by his fainting spell to ruminate on what he'd confessed, he would now and forever be aware of what they all knew about him. Every time he proffered a serving tray or held open a door, he would see it there, a shadow of it lurking behind their eyes. Pity, revulsion, perhaps even mocking humor.

Yet, he supposed he would not have taken back such an experience even if he were able; to see Edward again, to hold him in his arms, had been something plucked from his most desperate fantasies. And Thomas knew somehow that if he were to make the journey back there, Edward would once again appear in those ethereal woods to guide him. The thought of it gave him immense comfort. Although it had been necessary for them to part the previous night, their second goodbye had been colored with promise rather than tragic finality.

Thomas couldn't help but summon a small smile at the memory of Edward telling him that he loved him in return. He was awash in the glow of it. It was a terribly powerful thing, Thomas realized; another person's love that would stay with him always, never to be extinguished. It was the first time anyone outside of his immediate family had said those three words to him.

Thomas leaned over to delve through the drawer of his bedside table. He withdrew a tattered volume of Romantic poetry and let it fall open on his lap. Nestled in its decaying yellow pages was a photograph of Edward. It was his military portrait, soft and frayed about the edges where Thomas had run his fingers over it.

The photograph, Edward had explained to him in the hospital, had been taken at his training camp before he had gone off to the front. He had intended to send it back home to his mother. But in the end, Edward couldn't bear the thought of her looking at it everyday, so proud of her son, the soldier. It had filled him with such a sense of humiliation, he had told Thomas. 

_No more than a little boy playing dress-up, a sheep in wolf's clothing. And now I am ruined for it._

Thomas choked on a sob he hadn't been aware he was holding. As he studied the bright-eyed, unmarred man in the photograph, he fully understood how the war had ruined so much more than Edward's eyes.

 _Would you like to keep it as a token of my friendship? We can pretend that we knew each other when we were both still whole. Perhaps you were meant to have it all along, Thomas._

His reminiscing was cut short by a tentative rap on the door. He did not rush to hide the photograph under his pillow, as he undoubtedly would have done before. His secrets were not his own anymore.

"Yes?"

Jimmy carefully opened the door. His body language was timid, obviously unsure if he was welcome, but Thomas shot him a contrite look that seemed to reassure him. He entered and shut the door.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Not especially."

"I know you wanted to be left alone, but after the night you had, I couldn't help but worry about you all day. I wanted to check in to see how you were doing."

There was a time when Thomas would have been ecstatic to hear that Jimmy was concerned for his welfare, but today his stomach only gave a half-hearted leap. "Well, I'm perfectly alright, as you can see."

"That you are." Jimmy moved to stand fully inside the room and let out an unexpected giggle. "That medium was none too happy about last night. While I was loading her luggage in the car I overheard her complaining to those twins about being 'upstaged by the lavender footman.' Her words, not mine."

Despite his dreary mood, Thomas couldn't help but smirk at that. "She wounds me. Call me 'lavender' all you like, but a lowly footman I most definitely am not."

Thomas was pleased to see Jimmy visibly relax with his small attempt at humor.

"What have you got there?" asked Jimmy, eyes settling on the photograph in Thomas's hand.

"Would you like to see Lieutenant Edward Courtenay?"

"You mean that bloke you were talking to last night?" Thomas nodded.

Jimmy pulled the chair back up to Thomas's bed and took the photograph, delicately pinching it at the bottom right corner. Thomas was unable to read his expression as he took a long moment to stare at it.

"He were very handsome."

"Yes, he certainly was. I think I fell in love with him the day I met him." Thomas never would have been so candid with Jimmy before, but now that his cards were all on the table, he couldn't see any point in pretending that his interest in Edward had been anything less than romantic.

"Can I ask what happened to him? I mean, only if you're comfortable…"

"I don't mind telling you. I met him when I worked at Downton hospital during the war. He'd been blinded by mustard gas out in the trenches. Lady Sybil - I suppose it were Nurse Crawley then - and I worked with him, tried to help him get on without his sight. We were rather good friends, the three of us, a good team. He was getting better, so Dr. Clarkson ordered that he be moved to a convalescent home. But he didn't want to leave me and Sybil and he were just so depressed. The night before his transfer he killed himself, slit his wrists."

Jimmy let out a small involuntary gasp. "That's horrible."

"I'm the one who found him after he'd done it. There was so much blood, great pools of it around his bed. The worst part was that he died alone and cold without anyone. Even if I couldn't have saved him, I wish I'd been there with him so he didn't have to be by himself when he went."

"I'm so sorry, Thomas. We don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want."

"It's a relief, actually, to say it aloud. At the time, I'd formed this half-baked idea that once the war'd ended, I would go to live with him and be his eyes. I didn't even know if he loved me back, but I was prepared to stand by him in any way he'd have me. Now I realize how naive I was back then, but I still think about what might have been had he lived," said Thomas. Rain began to patter against the window. "I've never told that to anyone."

"I'm glad you told me," said Jimmy, his tone uncommonly sincere. "Did you find out last night, then?"

"Find out what?"

"If he felt the same way about you."

Thomas smiled, absently rubbing circles into his scarred palm. "Yes, he told me just before I left. Of course nothing can ever come of it, but at the same time, I feel incredibly lucky to know that it wasn't one-sided after all. I'm sorry, I know that must sound horrendously sappy…"

"Not at all," said Jimmy, despite the blush that had crept up his neck.

They shared a moment of companionable silence. Jimmy continued to stare at the photograph of Edward as though he were working himself up to say something.

"Listen, Thomas…" said Jimmy with overt discomfort, smoothing his hand down the back of his head. After a few beats, he huffed out a sigh and asked, "Won't you come down for dinner? I know you don't want to face everyone right now, but it'll only get harder the longer you wait. Unless you're planning to leave. You aren't planning to leave, are you?"

Thomas was sure that hadn't been everything Jimmy had wanted to say, but he decided not to press the issue. "I'd be a damned fool if I didn't at least entertain the notion after what I did last night. But no, Jimmy, I'm not leaving. Downton's my home, for better or worse."

Jimmy's relief was evident as he relaxed his features into a warm grin. "Happy to hear it." He stood to leave. "I'll come back to get you after I'm done serving dinner. I don't imagine you're very keen to go downstairs alone."

"Thanks, Jimmy. I appreciate that."

It took a long while for Thomas to simply muster the strength to rise out of bed. Once he managed to do so, he moved slowly, his whole body lethargic with physical and emotional exhaustion. His hand trembled while he drew his razor across his jawline, resulting in a small but nasty gash on the left side of his face. Thomas swore harshly and dropped the razor, which then skittered across the room. Just as he went to retrieve the blasted thing, Jimmy came through the door.

"Thomas, you're bleeding."

Thomas turned back to face the mirror. A winding stream of blood had already traveled the length of his neck to soil his undershirt. "Damn."

"Here, let me," said Jimmy. He picked up a cloth by the basin and proceeded to clean Thomas's face and neck. "Do you have another?" he asked, looking pointedly at the shock of red that had blossomed across the white shirt.

"Third drawer down," said Thomas, pulling the garment up and over his head.

Jimmy returned with a fresh one which he handed to Thomas, his gaze conspicuously avoiding Thomas's bare chest. Thomas could not find the energy to feel awkward about his state of undress, even in front of Jimmy. Once the undershirt was on, Thomas pulled his livery shirt on over it; his still quivering hands fumbled over the buttons.

Thomas let out a whimper of frustration and then, much to his own horror, felt hot tears slide down his cheeks. He turned abruptly away from Jimmy and leant over the basin; he heard several drops hit the water below. Releasing a shaky sigh, he said, "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it? I mean, if it were me, I'd be a right mess for days," said Jimmy with a soft laugh. Thomas felt him draw closer and place a warm hand against his back. He failed to remember another occasion when Jimmy had been so physical with him. "Come on, let me help you."

Thomas relented and turned to face Jimmy. He stood so close that Thomas could smell his faintly spicy cologne; the intoxicating scent of it only served to further muddle his thoughts. Thomas tried not to allow his breath to quicken as Jimmy deftly did up his buttons.

As he finished dressing Thomas, Jimmy commented, "The family were all asking after you at dinner. I told them you were awake and planning to eat in the servants hall. They seemed pleased to hear that you made such a quick recovery."

"And that was it?" Thomas asked incredulously.

"That was it," said Jimmy, using his hands to brush the nonexistent dust from Thomas's lapels. "Well, the seance was the primary topic of conversation over tea today, but no one said a word against you, I promise."

Although the Crawleys might not have said any negative things about him, at least within Jimmy's earshot, it was clear to Thomas that he had still been a significant part of the discussion. He now wished that he had refused to go down to dinner, as his uniform had grown intolerably warm and heavy.

"Well then, you're all put together. Not a hair out of place," Jimmy grinned up at him.

Jimmy's friendly smile, like the one he usually wore when it was just the two of them joking through a cloud of cigarette smoke, was almost too much for Thomas in that moment. As though Jimmy's estimation of him had not changed when he had come to know Thomas's truth. His eyes stung from the effort of holding back more tears. Thomas looked down at his feet, balling his fists and taking a steadying breath through his nose.

"What you did for everyone at the seance, Thomas, it were a good thing. You've nothing to be ashamed of," said Jimmy bracingly. He reached inside his breast pocket to take out his handkerchief; unfurling Thomas's fist, he placed it there.

Thomas took the handkerchief to dab at the corners of his eyes, still cast down to the floor. "I'm not a kind person, Jimmy. For all the years I've been here, I've bullied and schemed to get what I want. I'm selfish and I'm spiteful. I've done terrible things and not lost any sleep over them. And the funny thing is, now that I've done something that other people see as good, I've never felt so ashamed in my whole life."

"But you had no control over it," Jimmy replied weakly.

"I suppose that's the point."


	5. Chapter 5

When Thomas followed Jimmy into the servants hall, the hum of conversation ceased abruptly and all heads swiveled in his direction. Thomas would have laughed at the comical expressions on their faces had he not been so queasy from the surge of adrenaline rushing through his body.

"Ah, Mr. Barrow," began Mr. Carson, his commanding baritone endeavoring to cut through the tension in the room. "James informed me that you were planning to attend dinner this evening, but I confess, I rather thought you would not be up and about so soon after… well, never mind. Please take your seats."

The strained silence stretched on as he and Jimmy sat down next to one another. Thomas chose to direct his line of vision to his hands clasped in his lap. He was alarmed to discover that he had forgotten to put on his glove; the rippled skin was thrown into sharper relief by his heightened sense of disgrace. As Thomas continued to avoid eye contact with everyone around the table, the chatter gradually grew back up around him.

He hadn't thought it possible before he'd made such an utter spectacle of himself at the seance, but he now felt his otherness and alienation from his coworkers all the more keenly. How surreal it was to think that it was only last night he had sat amongst them with relative ease, playing cards and smoking.

Anxiety tasted of acid in Thomas's mouth. For fear of hyperventilating over his dinner plate, he searched for a way to insulate himself from the incessant prattling and staring of the people around him. The most calming thought to reach him was an image of Edward, his eyes tranquil and affectionate. The smooth and purposeful pressure of Edward's lips against his…

Thomas was brought back into reality when Bates' voice tunneled through his recollection. His tone was accusatory and biting. "Even after your little sanctimonious speech last night, you just couldn't resist it, could you? Cruelty indeed, Mr. Barrow. You seem to have everyone else fooled, but you'll not fool me."

Thomas could not summon a response, lest he draw more unwanted attention to himself. Bates seemed to take his silence as permission to keep talking.

"May I ask where you acquired such expert skill in the art of forgery?"

Most of the table's occupants had once again gone quiet, interest piqued by Bates' query.

Jimmy, who had evidently also been listening intently, replied. "I don't know what you've heard, Mr. Bates, but those letters weren't forged. I don't think Mr. Barrow, let alone anyone else, is such a talented forger that in less than an hour with nothing to copy, he could write letters in around a dozen different hands, containing information he couldn't possibly know, all with his eyes closed. And I suppose you're only asking because you've been listening to gossip. If you'd been there and seen what I'd seen, you'd not be questioning Mr. Barrow's integrity nor Lord and Lady Grantham's judgment on the matter."

The room had fallen into such a hush, Thomas was momentarily concerned that everyone could hear his heart working as a battering ram against his ribcage. Bates and Jimmy kept their eyes locked on one another, but thankfully for Thomas, Bates appeared to have no counterargument on offer. Even through the haze of embarrassment, Thomas couldn't help but inwardly beam at the fact that Jimmy had just stuck up for him in front of all their fellow servants.

"If you are both quite finished," said Mr. Carson pointedly to Jimmy and Bates, "might we return to more appropriate dinner conversation?"

As the scraping of knives and forks resumed, Thomas still could not bring himself to touch his food.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" asked Jimmy, stabbing at his chicken with a touch more vigor than strictly necessary.

"I'm not very hungry," murmured Thomas.

Hearing a bark of laughter, he peered furtively along the table to find its source. Thomas watched the hall boys and maids, ignoring Carson's plea for a change of topic, giggle and whisper to each other from behind their hands while they took turns glancing in his direction. As their snickering grew louder, so did their voices.

"I heard he were talking to some dead bloke like he were his sweetheart…"

"… always knew he were a strange one… can't decide if he should be thrown in gaol or the madhouse…"

"… why's he still here? Isn't decent…"

Thomas's plate rattled violently as Jimmy slammed his fist down on the table. There were several audible gasps and Mr. Carson bellowed, "James! What is the meaning of this outrageous behavior?"

When Thomas looked to Jimmy, he found him red in the face and shaking with barely repressed fury.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but I'll not sit idly by and listen to them," Jimmy said, jabbing a finger at the hall boys and maids, all of whom were now gaping at him in alarm, "speak ill of Mr. Barrow when they don't even know the half of it."

"Now, James…"

"No, Mr. Carson, it needs saying. What Mr. Barrow did was nothing short of miraculous. You're all treating him like he's some kind of pariah when you should be in awe of him. And you lot," said Jimmy, turning towards the younger servants, "have no right to be spreading rumors about Mr. Barrow. He's your superior and you owe him your respect."

"I have to agree with James."

All heads turned rapidly towards the doorway to the hall. Lady Grantham was stood there with her usual serene demeanor; when she smiled kindly over at Thomas, he was instantly reminded of Sybil.

"Your ladyship," spluttered Carson as he moved to stand up with the rest of the servants.

"Please, return to your dinner. I only wished to see how our Mr. Barrow is faring."

As everyone else sat back down, Thomas walked over to Lady Grantham, hoping that she would lead him into the hallway so as to conduct their conversation in private. Lady Grantham, however, seemed to have no qualms about talking to him in the servants hall in front of everyone else.

"You needn't have troubled yourself, my lady. I would have been happy to send him upstairs…" said Mr. Carson.

"Nonsense. Mr. Barrow should not be running all over the house after last night. In fact, I was quite shocked when James informed us that Mr. Barrow was feeling well enough to leave his room this evening," said Lady Grantham as she turned from Carson to Thomas. "I trust you are feeling better, Mr. Barrow? You mustn't think that we expect you to return to work straight away if you need more time to rest."

"Thank you, my lady, but that won't be necessary," said Thomas, struggling to fix his expression back into one of accommodating formality. "I'm quite restored."

"I'm very pleased to hear that. However, that is not the only reason I came to speak with you," said Lady Grantham. Thomas felt her all too knowing eyes search behind his aloof countenance and he was chilled with the awareness that he was no longer hidden. "I wanted to thank you on behalf of the whole family for what you did for us. I realize that what happened at the seance was just as much of a surprise to you as it was to the rest of us, but that certainly doesn't make it less genuine or meaningful. Because of you, I know my children are safe. A mother can ask for no greater gift."

Lady Grantham's eyes were sparkling with tears and she looked to him with such earnest gratitude that Thomas felt his lips quaver. The entire hall was staring at the two of them with rapt attention.

"Also thanks to you, Lady Mary and Lady Edith have some closure. It is indeed a tragedy to suddenly lose the person you had planned to share your life with. A tragedy, I believe, that you have endured as well."

There was no mistaking the understanding and empathy in her words. All of the worry and tension seeped out of Thomas, leaving him profoundly drained.

"You have a very special gift, Mr. Barrow, and we count ourselves lucky to have shared in it. We are truly in your debt. If there is ever anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," said Lady Grantham.

"I don't know what to say, my lady. That's very kind of you," said Thomas.

With that, Lady Grantham gave him one last smile, so motherly it almost broke Thomas's heart. She bid everyone a good night and left the hall. After standing there for several more moments in an effort to collect himself, Thomas was pulled by a powerful desire for a cigarette and some solitude.

"May I be excused, Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, Mr. Barrow, you may."

Thomas walked as fast as he possibly could to escape the charged atmosphere of the hall. The night air was blessedly cool on his overheated skin and he was able to really breathe for what felt like the first time all day. As soon as he sat down, he reached for his cigarette case and lighter. Thomas inhaled the smoke with relish, trapping it in his lungs for a long while before exhaling. He watched it writhe about before it dissipated in the dark.

Despite dinner having turned out to be such a tense affair, Thomas finally felt some relief ease his body now that he had faced them all and survived the fallout.

 _You're a fighter._

Perhaps Edward was right about that, but where exactly did that leave Thomas? After years of fighting to ingratiate himself with the Crawleys, he had at long last earned their goodwill. His position at Downton was now indubitably more secure than ever, and yet, this knowledge did not bring him the peace it might have once. Especially after the epiphany he had experienced in Edward's embrace, any success in his career felt immaterial when he had yet to sate his longing for intimacy.

Thomas had just begun on his second cigarette when the door to the yard opened and shut behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Jimmy. Wordlessly, Jimmy approached and sat down beside him; Thomas automatically held out his case for Jimmy to choose a cigarette.

"You alright, then?" asked Jimmy.

"I could ask you the same thing."

A few staccato puffs on his cigarette was Jimmy's only response.

"Thank you for defending me in there, Jimmy," ventured Thomas. "It meant a lot."

"You'd not have done any less for me."

The two of them shared an easy silence for a while, smoking and looking up into the vast expanse of starry sky.

"There's something I need to say to you, Thomas," said Jimmy. "But it's difficult."

"I'm listening," said Thomas, keeping the nervous edge from his voice.

"I have a tendency to keep my distance from people, so I've not had many friends in my life," started Jimmy. "And somehow, even after all we've been through, you've become the best friend I've ever had. But once we agreed to be friends, it was like we made this unspoken rule to never acknowledge your feelings for me. Even though I know it and you know that I know it."

Thomas shivered. He told himself it was from the cold.

"I'm not a kind person either, Thomas. Anyone who's ever shown romantic interest in me, I've treated very poorly. I used the girls I were with for a few fumbles then tossed them aside like they were nothing. I'm ashamed of that, but it's nothing compared to the shame I feel over how I treated you."

"Please, Jimmy, it's okay…"

"No, it's not okay, Thomas," said Jimmy. "And I apologize for it, for whatever little it's worth this far down the road."

Thomas remained silent as he fished for a third cigarette.

"I'll admit that in the beginning, I didn't know what to make of your feelings for me. But now, knowing it makes me feel safe," said Jimmy, his voice unsteady with emotion. "You make me feel safe. I stayed up most of the night watching over you. I couldn't stop thinking about what you said to Edward before you passed out, how you felt like giving up because you thought no one would ever love you back. It broke my heart because it made me understand how much pain I caused by not being brave enough to tell you the truth."

Thomas watched Jimmy release a shaky breath. He considered that this moment felt even less real than meeting Edward amongst the mist and trees.

"I know I don't act like it, Thomas, but you're the most important person in my life. I was horrible to you for so long and you loved me in spite of it. I could travel the world and not meet another man who loves as selflessly as you do. I told you once that I could never give you what you wanted, but really I was too scared and confused and selfish to stop and consider that I could want the same thing."

Jimmy paused to put out his cigarette and swung his leg over to straddle the bench facing Thomas. Looking him dead in the eye, he said, "What I'm trying to say is that I love you, Thomas."

The force of Jimmy's confession knocked the wind out of him. "But, I thought… Are you sure?"

Jimmy nodded, his lips curving into a grin. "I don't want to go through life alone regretting that I didn't take the chance when I had it. I want to be with you, and that I'm sure of."

"So, where do we go from here?" asked Thomas hesitantly.

"I don't know, but I'd like to find out. If that's what you want, too."

"That's all I've ever wanted. I love you," said Thomas, his face breaking into one of the most genuine smiles of his life.

Haltingly, Jimmy leaned in until his breathe ghosted Thomas's lips. Unable to wait any longer, Thomas closed the gap. The kiss was soft and chaste and everything Thomas had longed for. Jimmy pulled away to gaze at him with hopeful anticipation before leaning back in. As their lips met again with more purpose, Thomas felt in it the promise of a life truly worth living.


End file.
